


Unfinished

by chilly_flame



Series: Unfinished [1]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, angsty but never fear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:57:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nigel discovers a secret when Miranda lands in the hospital. Someone asked about this one recently, so I figured I'd dust it off. Originally posted to LJ December 2008.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfinished

Nigel sat down in the Henry Miller Aeron that Miranda favored at home. Some days he wondered if she spent more time working here than she did at the office.

 

Looking at the evidence scattered around him, it was probably true. He shook his head.

 

He felt hollow, jittery. Too much coffee and too little sleep over the last 36 hours left him exhausted, and he was only just getting started. The girls were at the hospital, waiting with their father for news, good or bad. But though Miranda lay in a bed hooked up to wires and drips and god knew what else, life went on. _Runway_ went on too, even if it seemed like the pulse of the magazine had paused the moment Miranda dropped to her knees in the hall on Wednesday.

 

It was a heart attack. She was healthy, fit, ate well and did everything right. Except sleep or relax. Stress, the doctor suggested, and family history. Had Ms. Priestly taken a vacation recently? Nigel winced when he answered in the negative. When Miranda went on vacation, she worked. It was simple. Her life was _Runway_ , and everything else came second, including herself.

 

She was paying for that now.

 

To his shock, seeing Miranda in the hospital bed was the most jarring, terrifying thing Nigel ever experienced. Though both his parents were in good health, he’d seen grandparents pass away. That said, they were old. And they looked old all the time, so when his Pop got sick and spent a month getting sicker at Bellvue two Christmases ago, it wasn’t so strange. It was sad, and painful, and when Pop died, it was all right. A relief even.

 

But Miranda, who seemed to rule the world, was much smaller, and paler, and more fragile than he could have believed. In the bed, she was… deflated. Defeated. She looked her age, though well-preserved and unaltered by plastic surgery. Her skin was gently lined yet pristine, and more like porcelain than ever.

 

He wondered if she dreamed of coffee. Or the magazine. Or her children. Or of another life, one she wished she had.

 

He realized as much as Miranda drove him crazy and made his life difficult, he cared very much about her. The thought of life without her made his chest ache. He prayed that she would live. He might be one of the few in the city doing so tonight.

 

No matter. He had work to do. Somewhere in this pile of papers were the notes on the Austin shoot, and he had to find them. If this was one of the last issues of _Runway_ that Miranda would touch, it would reflect her every wish.

 

He started in the left corner of the desk, flipping through pages and folders carefully. By the time he got halfway through, he hadn’t had any luck. A red folder caught his eye and he slid it out from under the stapler; it looked well-thumbed and worn. Maybe this was it?

 

When he opened it, he stared at the page on top and wondered exactly what he’d found.  
  
Something he shouldn’t be seeing, certainly.

 

Of course, he knew what it was. He recognized sketches as well as the next person. But he thought Miranda didn’t put pencil to paper anymore; she almost never discussed the fact that she’d once been a dedicated art student. He knew that detail because after twenty years, one learned things about one’s boss that others were not privy to. She’d been a talented artist, and still was; now and then she’d sketch a favorite from a designer’s collection, and Nigel would marvel at her quick skill.

 

Those sketches were doodles. This, she’d spent time on, assuming it was Miranda’s work. But there, in the corner, was evidence enough--handwritten notes about the Japanese fashion spread put together not three weeks prior. She must have jotted them down as she’d drawn this image of a woman’s neck, and hair, and shoulder peeking out from under a bed sheet. The hair was dark, the face hidden, but it was an elegant shoulder, drawn with affection and care. It was intimate, and beautiful.

 

Underneath that drawing was another of the same woman sitting at a windowsill looking out through the glass. Her hair fell in waves down her back, and it was as if she was waiting for something. Or someone. But one section was bare, and Nigel wondered what had prevented Miranda from completing the picture.

 

The third drawing made Nigel's jaw drop, because he did not believe what he was seeing.

 

The very pretty face of Andrea Sachs stared up at him, smiling gently, with love in her eyes.

 

The image was unmistakable. And it made no sense at all.

 

He hadn't heard from Andy in ages, though they'd kept in touch a little bit after she started at _The Mirror_. He had no idea what she was doing now, or if she was even still in town.

 

But Miranda was drawing sketches of her. Romantic, graceful sketches that spoke of hidden desire. But was it mutual? Was this a one-sided fancy or were they… involved?

 

At that moment, the Austin shoot seemed entirely inconsequential.

 

\---

 

This is it," he told the cab driver, and handed over some cash.

 

He'd dug through his Outlook for an old address list, and after fifteen minutes of cursing his terrible folder structure he found the right list. He hoped like hell she hadn't moved, because he wanted this mystery solved. Now.

 

Three intoxicated college age students were on their way out of the building, and Nigel put on his most boring expression and walked in before they could close the door behind them. The mailboxes were fortunately labeled with last names, and there it was: 6D, A. Sachs. No second name. Wonder what happened to the chef? Last he heard they were trying to work it out.

 

The elevator was tiny, and he held his breath as it tugged him toward his destination. A moment later he stepped out into the poorly lit hallway and found the door. "Here we go," he muttered, and rang the doorbell.

 

Nothing. No sound at all, but the door was thick. He rapped on it loudly, and called out, "Andy, are you home?"

 

Ten seconds later, he heard the deadbolts sliding open, and the door cracked a few inches. "Nigel?" Andy croaked. "What are you doing here?"

 

Nigel shook his head. "I'm not sure. Can I come in?"

 

"I don't know if that's a good idea. I'm really busy with work and everything—"

 

"Please, Andy. Just for a minute. I need someone to talk to." That was the best he could come up with, to play on her sympathy. Whatever was going on, she had to have heard the news about Miranda.

 

Soon he heard the rattle of the chain as Andy unhooked it, and she opened the door. "Thanks, Six," he said, and he was about to make a stupid comment about her lax building security till he glanced around the apartment. It was a disaster. A feather pillow looked like it had been shredded somewhere across the room, and dozens of books lay on the floor near a shelf as though they’d been swept off it in a rage. He looked more closely at Andy in the dim light, and he knew.

 

"Oh, kid, come here." She dissolved into tears, falling into his arms.

 

She sobbed for a long time as he held on, the emotion spilling out of her in a flood of despair. "She's not dead, is she?" Andy finally whispered, her voice broken and raspy.

 

"No. There’s been no change. She’s unconscious, but not in a coma."

 

"Thank god," Andy said. "I couldn't bear it—I won't—oh god, Nigel, I've been going crazy not knowing."

 

"Let's sit," he said, pulling her over to the couch. It was littered with used Kleenex, which he tossed onto the floor. "I'll tell you what I know, but it's not much." He figured he'd get more out of her if he got the details out of the way. "It happened yesterday morning, after the staff meeting. She was walking back to her office, and I was following her, and she kind of stumbled, and fell down, and grabbed her arm. Emily knew immediately what was happening—I guess she watched her dad have a heart attack years ago. He lived, thank god, so she knew exactly what to do. She had aspirin in her desk and gave it to Miranda, and the paramedics showed up, and that was it. I went with her to the hospital, and the doctors said it wasn't mild, but it wasn't massive either. She's been out of commission since then, though they also said that it was unlikely that she had brain damage because the medics gave her CPR and they got her heart started pretty fast."

 

"Oh god," Andy moaned. "But they don't know?"

 

"She hasn't woken up. The doctor said they wouldn't be able to tell till then."

 

"Why isn't she awake?"

 

Nigel felt an acute sense of anguish then, one that probably mirrored Andy's. "I have no idea. They said we just have to wait."

 

"She's not alone at the hospital, is she?"

 

"I left the twins there with Jamie, but they might have had to leave—it’s after hours."

 

Andy sighed. "Damn." She sagged back onto the couch. "I'd kill to get in there. But I can't. I'm not family, and no one knows about us." Finally, Andy's eyes widened. "But you know. How did you know? Did she tell you?"

 

Nigel shook his head. "I found these in her desk." He pulled out the sketches, and with watery eyes, Andy took them in. Her gaze was hungry, and she wept again, this time more softly. Her hands caressed the pages lightly, as though lost in memory.

 

"I hadn't seen these," she said, pointing to the first two he'd found. She gestured to the portrait. "This one she made me pose for. I felt like such an idiot, just sitting there doing nothing." She covered her mouth. "I'm so relieved you found them. These are all I have, you know? I don't even keep a toothbrush at her place, or vice versa. We've tried to be so careful. And then this happened—" she choked a little on the words. "We couldn't tell anyone. The divorce just keeps dragging on. Stephen wants to get back together. Can you believe that? At first he just assumed Miranda would take him back since he’s the one who filed the papers. Thought she still loved him." Andy laughed bitterly. "Asshole. Has he been to see her?"

 

Nigel shrugged. "He came last night. With flowers."

 

"Goddamn him," Andy said. "It's so unfair. I wish he'd just leave us alone and sign the damn papers."

 

"He has no idea Miranda's seeing anyone?"

 

Andy shook her head. "Miranda was sure he'd make it worse if he thought she was. We didn't um, start up anything while they were together, by the way. It was after. But that wouldn't matter. We both knew the lawyers would twist it into something ugly. Miranda's reputation is already so fucked it wouldn't have been that bad, but it wasn't important enough for either of us to risk it. The kids have it tough, and I don't want to be in the gossip rags either. It was easier staying quiet." Andy wiped her nose. "It was fun. Hilarious, actually. Sneaking around. We almost got caught a few times. I actually had to jump out the back window once onto the patio, and climb the wall to get out to the street when the twins came home unexpectedly." Her face crumpled, and more tears spilled over. "God, that was great. Apparently she threw my bra under the sink in the kitchen, and the housekeeper found it there a few days later. We laughed our heads off about that one."

 

Nigel was stunned. It was hard to imagine Miranda sneaking around New York, laughing and screwing Andy Sachs in a clandestine affair that apparently involved sex in a kitchen at least once. He never in a million years could have come up with that one.

 

"Nigel, what am I going to do?"

 

"Six, I gotta tell you, I haven’t got a clue. I had no idea this was going on."

 

She dabbed at her tears. "Sorry."

 

"So it's serious?"

 

Andy nodded. "I know, it's crazy. My mother would kill me if she knew, but it doesn't matter. Life just happens. And I wouldn't give Miranda up for anything in the world. Really. I'd do anything for her."

 

Nigel blinked. "Anything?"

 

"Uh huh."

 

Nigel shrugged. Might as well give it a shot. If Miranda died and Andy never got a chance to say goodbye, he'd regret it till the end of his days. "Wanna sneak into the hospital?"

 

Andy's eyes lit up. "Yeah."

 

\---

 

“You know the drill,” he said to Andy, who adjusted her giant sunglasses. It was New York City at 11 o’clock at night, but she would get away with it. With a white trench, a porkpie hat and her hair brushed out sleek and straight, she looked like she’d just stepped off a very fashionable plane. And that’s what they were going to say she’d done. She hauled a suitcase out of the cab as Nigel paid. “Okay, come on.”

 

He took her elbow and led her inside, and other than a little titter passing through the small cabal of reporters clustered in the main lobby, no one took any photos or approached them.

 

On the third floor, Nigel stepped out of the elevator, still holding on to Andy’s arm. “All right?”

 

“Raring to go,” she said. “Which way?”

 

A familiar looking nurse was walking toward the central station, and she smiled at Nigel. “Mr. Kipling, hello. I didn’t expect you so late. You know visiting hours are over.”

 

“I know Ronda, but I was hoping you could make an exception. Miranda’s cousin Andrea just flew in from Paris, and she is absolutely desperate to see Miranda.”

 

Andy took off her sunglasses, and the pained look and gorgeous red-rimmed eyes clearly affected Ronda. “I’ve been a wreck since I heard the news, Miss,” Andy said, her voice rough with tears. “Please. Just for a few minutes. I came as soon as I could. And tomorrow--” her voice caught, “--might be too late.”

 

If Nigel hadn’t known the tears that flowed during her plea were completely authentic, he’d have thought Andy was the greatest actress this side of the Mississippi. “It’s against regulations,” she said. “But I’ve heard a lot about Ms. Priestly, and I have a feeling once she wakes up and hears we kept you from seeing her, there would be hell to pay.”

 

The sun broke through across Andy’s face, and Nigel gave a silent cheer.

 

Ronda waved her hand. “If Mr. Kipling vouches for you, you’re okay by me. This way.”

 

The private room was enormous, and filled with flowers. But the machines were loud, and Miranda was as small as he remembered. She hadn’t moved.

 

“Any progress?” he asked Ronda quietly as Andy set her empty suitcase down.

 

“We thought she was coming out of it a couple hours ago, but she’s been non-responsive,” Ronda said softly. Andy sat down, but did not reach out.

 

“What’s that smell?” Andy asked after a moment.

 

Nigel frowned. “Hmm?”

 

“That smell.” Andy glanced around the room. She peered at the various flower baskets, and gasped. “Are those—freesias?” she hissed. In a flash she was out of her chair and snatching up a lovely arrangement, searching for a card. When she found it, she grimaced. “Irv! It figures. Nigel?”

 

With a wince, he took the bouquet from her and glanced at Ronda. “Would you?”

 

“Of course. I’m sure I can find a taker. I know my flowers, and those cost a bundle.” Ronda took the flowers and smiled faintly. “Nice to meet you, Andrea. I’ll be back soon.”

 

Andy barely heard her, taking her seat once more. Nigel thought he should excuse himself, but Andy looked up plaintively. “Stay, please, so I don’t fall apart? That would really piss her off.”

 

He nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.” He sat down in a seat on the opposite side of the bed, as Andy took Miranda’s hand, careful not to jostle the IV in her vein.

 

“She doesn’t look too bad,” she said. “I think when she had the flu a couple months ago was worse. That was terrible.”

 

Nigel frowned. He remembered Miranda being a little under the weather some time back, but she’d looked the same as she always did. “Really?”

 

Andy’s gaze didn’t move from Miranda’s face, and she stroked her cheek with one finger. “She held it together at work, and came home and puked her guts out for a whole weekend. You don’t really know someone till you spend two days with them lying on a bathroom floor.”

 

“Ha,” Nigel huffed. “Sounds like love,” he said, a little jokingly, and Andy smiled.  
  


“Yeah,” she whispered. She spread her hand out along Miranda’s face then, and cupped her jaw tenderly. “Yeah.”

 

It was quiet for a moment, as the word settled over Nigel. “We probably don’t have a lot of time,” he said, though he wished that weren’t the case.

 

Andy sighed. A few tears slipped down her cheeks, she wiped them away. “I know.” She sighed more deeply, and leaned close to Miranda. “Hey, Miranda, listen. It’s Andy. I know you’re tired, and you’re probably feeling rotten, but I feel rotten too, and I would love to see your pretty blue eyes open up so we could talk for a second. Or so I could talk, and know you can hear me. You think you could do that?”

 

Miranda didn’t move, and Andy kissed her forehead. Nigel swallowed.

 

“Come on, sweetheart. I’ve been so worried about you. Open your eyes, okay?”

 

To Nigel’s utter disbelief, Miranda proceeded to do just as Andy asked. He held his breath, and Andy stayed very still as papery eyelids fluttered until they opened at last.

 

“Morning, sunshine,” Andy said lightly, clearly trying to control herself. “Welcome back.”

 

“Andy,” Miranda said. Her voice was an unrecognizable rasp.

 

“Yeah, I’m here.”

 

Miranda took a few breaths, and they waited. “Water,” she mumbled, and Andy grabbed a plastic cup that had been sitting at the bedside for hours, just in case. Though her hands trembled, Andy slipped a straw between Miranda’s lips for her to drink.

 

“Easy,” Andy said, touching her fingers to Miranda’s temple.

 

When Miranda was finished, Andy put the cup back on the side table. “Oh,” Miranda said softly. “I was dreaming about you.”

 

Nigel felt like crying. He knew he should get the nurse, but he felt rooted to the chair.

 

“And here I am,” Andy said, tears flowing in earnest now, in stark contrast to her blinding smile.

 

“I’m in the hospital,” Miranda said.

 

Andy nodded.

 

“A heart attack?” Miranda asked.

 

Another nod.

 

“How long ago?”

 

Andy glanced over at Nigel. “Yesterday afternoon,” she said. “You’ve been unconscious. The girls are home with their dad, but they were here all day.”

 

Miranda exhaled, and closed her eyes again. “I’m tired.”

 

“I know,” Andy said. “You scared the shit out of me. Nigel too.”

 

“Nigel?” Miranda seemed to realize they weren’t alone, and looked over at him. “Nigel,” she said weakly. “Come closer.”

 

He leaned in, relief rushing through him. “I’m glad to see you, Miranda.”

 

“Thank you,” Miranda said, lifting her hand and reaching out. “For being here.”

 

Nigel took her hand carefully, rubbing the cool skin as though to warm it. “Seems only right.”

 

“He knows,” Andy said simply, and Miranda turned toward her. “He snuck me in.”

 

Miranda smiled a little at that.

 

“I should get someone,” Nigel said, standing.

 

“Oh no, not yet,” Andy said, eyes wild with fear. “They’ll make me leave. I can’t go.”

 

Miranda’s face changed. “You’ll stay.”

 

Andy stared down at her. “But that would--” She cut herself off, and Nigel watched her expression shift. “Are you ready?”

 

Nigel heard the rest of the unspoken question. Ready for the world to know about them? That was only one thing. Ready for a wrench to be thrown into the divorce proceedings. For the twins to find out. And who knows what else.

 

Miranda’s eyebrow twitched northward, not quite making it to its usual height, but it was promising. “I could be dead. I really don’t care about anything right now.” She sighed, visibly losing steam. “But I need you with me. And my girls. Nigel, can you bring my girls?”

 

“Sure.” He glanced at his watch—it was nearly midnight, but if they were asleep he’d eat his hat. “Be right back.”

 

“Okay,” Andy said. They didn’t look in his direction, and Andy leaned down to nuzzle at Miranda’s cheek. He realized at once he was intruding, and crept out of the room.

 

He called the townhouse and reached Jamie, who picked up on the first ring. When Nigel told him Miranda was awake, he let out a shaky breath. “Thank god,” he said.

 

“She’s asking to see the twins. Can you come back?”

 

“Of course. But wait—how were you able to get in after hours?”

 

Nigel considered telling him the situation, and promptly changed his mind. “I’ll explain when you get here.” _Or someone will_ , he thought.

 

Ronda was on her way back to the room when Nigel caught her in the hallway. “She’s awake.”

 

Her eyes widened. “I’ll get Doctor Williams. He’s on call tonight.”

 

A few minutes later, he hovered with Andy outside the door as the doctor checked her vitals, and whatever else doctors did in situations like this. When the man emerged, his look was dark. “She should be resting, but she’s rather stubborn,” he said in a gentle English accent. “She insists you both remain here, or she’ll do something rash. It sounded quite threatening.”

 

Nigel met Andy’s knowing grin with one of his own. “She’s like that,” Nigel said. “Don’t be scared.”

 

“She really must rest, though. I understand her children will be here shortly, and it’s best to keep them quiet around her. Can you do that?”

 

Andy nodded. “Absolutely.”

 

He shook his head, annoyed. “Fine. People do what they want to do. We have rules, they get broken.” He glanced at Nigel and Andy. “Often.”

 

Nigel felt only slightly guilty, and Andy definitely didn’t care. “She’s awake. That’s all that matters,” she said defiantly.

 

Dr. Williams nodded. “I’ll give you that. Must have been something about you,” he said casually as he looked over Miranda’s chart.

 

Andy smiled. “Right place at the right time, I guess. Excuse me,” she said, and went back inside Miranda’s room.

 

“Right,” the doctor said. “No more than an hour,” he advised Nigel, who took him seriously.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

When Nigel returned, Andy was already leaning close to Miranda, and when they kissed, the truth settled upon him. He still had no idea how they’d gotten together, but there it was. They were in love. It was the most outrageous thing imaginable.

 

For that reason alone, it was marvelous.

 

And as he watched them whisper softly to one another, he knew things would change, for everyone.

 

That was all right. A change would do them good.  
  
~fin


End file.
